


9.8 Meters Per Second Per Second.

by Basingstoke



Series: The Crack in the Door [3]
Category: Die Hard Series, Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Coming Out, Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-15
Updated: 2010-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:44:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McClane ventures outside the closet door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	9.8 Meters Per Second Per Second.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to zvi for beta!

One day, Matt moves in, and John McClane has one foot firmly outside of the closet door. No more time to think about it. There it is, waiting for someone to trip over it.

*

Matt's sheets are better than his sheets. This is especially obvious when he shoves his face into them.

"Oh god. Oh, god. Oh, GOD," Matt pants against John's back. His weight is balanced between his hand on John's shoulder and his knee between John's thighs and his healthy young dick pounding away at John's ass.

Matt shifts and hits John just right, there in the sweet spot, and John groans, fucking back against him, answering Matt's cries because it's just that good.

"John, JOHN, oh, God, you're--you're amazing--" He sounds like he's in physical pain when he comes, gasping out a high-pitched cry that's just shy of a scream.

John already came. Matt flops down beside him, panting, and John rolls over to look at him. Well, that's one long skinny stretch of handsome young man, right there. He rests a hand beside Matt's jaw, brushing his thumb over Matt's lips. "We keep this up, we're going to have to buy more sheets," John says.

"Two guys buying sheets is gay," Matt mutters.

"And this isn't?"

Matt's already asleep.

"Punk," John says, closing his eyes.

*

Zeus calls him around Halloween, over a year since he and Matt got together. "Did you break the kid's heart yet?"

"No. And he's not a kid."

Zeus snorts. "I'll wait," he says, and hangs up. Asshole.

*

Lucy squeezes mustard along her pretzel. "So Matt's living with you," she says.

"Yeah, he is."

"Is he your midlife crisis boyfriend?"

"What's it to--" he starts, but she shoots him this look that spells _DOOM_ and he stops. He wonders if she got that look from him or Holly. Him, probably. "Okay, it's your business," he says.

"Damn straight," Lucy says.

"Yeah, I guess that's what he is."

"Okay then."

John sits down on a bench. Lucy sits next to him, her elbow poking into his arm. Voluntarily touching him, that's a good sign. Both she and her mother keep him well beyond arm's length when they're pissed. He finishes his pretzel and puts his arm around her shoulders. So far so good. "Does it bother you?" he asks.

Lucy squints into the middle distance, thinking. She's got a big brain, his girl. He can see her wheels turning right through her skull sometimes. "I'm blocking it out because I need to never think about you having sex." She winces. So does John. "Mom has a boyfriend she hasn't told you about yet because it's not in that place yet and she doesn't want you stalking him," she says.

"I wouldn't stalk him. I want her to be happy."

"And yet, you stalk me. How about I don't freak out about your boyfriend and you don't freak out about my boyfriend? Deal?" Lucy says.

"No deal."

"Then you have to break up with Matt," she says.

"Lucy--"

"Deal or no deal. No compromise."

"It's not the same, baby!"

"I'm twenty-four. Your boyfriend is twenty-nine." She narrows her eyes. Christ, she's just like her mother. "Think very carefully before you speak your next sentence."

He thinks very carefully, judging the look in Lucy's eyes.

"It's just the one guy I can't stand. He rubs me the wrong way. You're a grown woman, I know, but you're my daughter." John hugs her, and she lets him. "I love you and Jack more than life."

Lucy kisses his cheek. "I know, Dad, but you're a _douche_ sometimes."

"Are we okay?"

"We're okay."

"And whatsisname?"

"Kevin? We already broke up. Seriously, do you think I'm going to date a guy who sets off _your_ alarm? Come on." She punches his arm.

*

Saturday morning, well after dawn. Matt sleeps in and John loves to hold him while he sleeps. He loves that Matt will dreamily wrap John's arms around him like pulling up a blanket. So he stays in bed, longer than he should, with his face in Matt's long hair and his arm around Matt's narrow chest.

Matt blinks awake and turns over onto his back around nine. "Morning," he says, rubbing his eyes.

"Morning."

Matt sighs and gets up, heading to the bathroom. He returns in a few minutes, running his fingers through his hair. "You're still in bed?"

"Yeah. Come on back."

"Oh, gladly." He climbs back under the covers and wraps around John's arm. "So what's the plan for today?"

"Gotta go to the gym. I skipped Wednesday. You should come."

"If you promise not to humiliate me on the weights, sure."

"You shouldn't be lifting weights with that wrist." Matt's wrist clicks when he twists it. He wears a brace to type.

"It's just a little carpal tunnel, no big deal. Hazard of the trade."

"Still, you don't want to fuck up your nerves and have little T-rex hands flapping around," John says, demonstrating. Matt laughs. "You should make an appointment with my physical therapist. Think how embarrassing it would be if your body gave out before mine does."

"Yeah, but you're the Terminator," Matt says. John blows a raspberry at the ceiling. He's not.

When they finally roll out of bed, they do go to the gym. Matt tries to teach John yoga again. It's fun up until a couple yahoos make "gay" comments at them when their butts are in the air. Well, fuck it; this is his gym, he pays to be here. He straightens up and heads over.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Don't kill them!" Matt says under his breath, along with "ouch" as he scrambled to his feet.

"You addressed me?" John asks the guys politely. They look at each other. Shit, they're both on steroids. He can see it in the showy muscles and the zits. They probably have peanut dicks too.

The Latino one says, "Well, we said 'gay' and you came over."

The blond smirks like this is hilarious. "So, like, it's up to you."

"Yeah. I'm doing a workout with my boyfriend, and someone addresses the gay, I figure they're talking to me. So how can I help you gents?"

"You can't help us with _nothin'_," the Latino says, while the blond makes cartoon gagging noises.

"Aw, that's too bad. I'm a helpful guy. That's why I'm a _New York City detective_," John says, putting the fear of God into his voice. The blond stops clowning. John claps them both on the shoulder, smiles, and walks back to Matt.

Matt is balancing on his good leg with his bad leg in the air. "Oh, thank god," Matt says as John circles his waist with his arm. "I thought you were going to kill them with your thumbs." He limps, leaning on John, away from the two turds.

"What goes through your head? You watch too much TV. Come on, I think I have the hang of downward facing dog."

"Okay. I'll just sit here and do my knee exercises and look at your ass. Ow," Matt mutters.

It takes another half hour before Matt realizes, "Hey, did you just _tell_ those guys I'm your boyfriend?"

"Yeah. What did you think I was going to say?" John is working on his biceps, in case he ever has to climb up an elevator shaft again.

"Uh... not those things?"

"Honey, I'm fucking John McClane. What the fuck do I have to have to worry about from a couple of peanut-dick motherfuckers?"

"Oh," Matt says. "Fucking nothing, I fucking guess."

"Give them some machine guns and I might break a sweat."

"God, you're sexy."

"I know," John says, grinning.

*

"Holy shit, John McClane!" the new detective says.

Christ. "Yeah, that's me," John says. He shoots a look at Kowalski over the kid's shoulder--seriously? Hero worship? Kowalski smirks and makes a cock-sucking motion with her hand and her tongue in her cheek that frankly shocks him. When did chicks get that dirty?

"The Gruber brothers--Gabriel--you've done more against terrorism than anyone else alive," the new detective says, her eyes shining.

"Those assholes weren't terrorists, they were thieves! Shit, Kowalski, doesn't anyone educate the kids these days?"

Kowalski rolls her eyes at him and shrugs.

"But--" the new kid says.

John rubs his fingers together in the international sign for dinero. "Looters with ambition."

"Yeah, but--"

"Pretending to be terrorists to fuck with everyone!"

"It was _awesome_ the way you wasted them all," the new kid says.

John slams down his coffee cup and heads for the bathroom. The name "Gruber" makes his scars ache.

*

John comes home cranky. Fuckin' new kids. Fuckin' hero worship. Fuckin' brownouts making people crazy.

When he arrives, Matt is brushing his teeth. The apartment kind of smells like rotting cabbage. He stands behind Matt and rests his hands on Matt's waist. "Jesus, Matt, what did you have for lunch?"

Matt elbows out of his arms and hops to the bedroom. "Don't even fucking touch me."

Great. Zero to don't touch me in under a minute. "What's wrong?"

"I got shot! It fucking hurts sometimes!" He slams the bedroom door.

Fine. John leaves him, tries the TV, sees if the signal is up; it's not. Mother of fuck. He turns on the stereo instead. Hendrix, because Matt says guitars make his balls itch.

After a minute, John hears Matt's stereo turn on. It's a new band he's been into forever, or an old band he just discovered, John never knows. It has guitars too. The beats clash. John sits his ass next to his stereo and reads the fucking New York Times until he gets to the fucking crossword and Matt's already done it, even though he gets the fucking crossword on his fucking iPhone every fucking day, and then John throws it on the floor and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and listens to Jimi sing about chopping down mountains with the edge of his hand. He does not have a beer from out the back of the fridge.

When he's halfway through the Star-Spangled Banner, his cell phone rings. It's Matt.

"Hi," Matt says. "Can you come in? I dropped the iPod remote down the back of the bed and I can't take this playlist any more."

John turns off his stereo and opens the bedroom door. Matt has one pillow under his busted knee and the other over his face with both arms crossed on top. "My brain hurts like a knife hold, 'cause I've never been shown," Matt's stereo blasts. "How to pull myself out of the sucking quicksand of failure." John shuts it off. Who needs that shit?

"Thanks," Matt says.

John unfolds the spare quilt from the foot of the bed and spreads it over Matt, then sits and unlaces Matt's shoes off underneath the cover. When he turns Matt's ankle to work the shoe off, Matt makes a strangled cry and his hands twitch.

"Take your Vicodin?" John asks.

"Yeah." Matt presses his arms back over the pillow.

John sits down. "Do your knee exercises?"

"Yeah."

"It's a full moon. My knees always hurt in the full moon," John says.

"God, that is such bullshit, McClane." Matt shoves the pillow off his face. His eyes are glossy and his nose is red. His lip is bleeding into his soul patch.

"Neap tide, too."

"Fucking stop it." Matt means it. His eyes are desperate. He works his hand back into his hair and pulls so hard John can see the skin of his forehead tighten.

"It doesn't hurt a lot, right? It just won't fucking stop, no matter what you do."

Matt closes his eyes and pulls his hair again. "God. Yes."

"Did you think I wouldn't understand that, asshole? Trust me for once. I've got this." He lies down beside Matt and rubs his stomach. Matt's computer system whirs softly to itself, the glowing buttons hidden behind black electrical tape.

"I'm sorry," Matt says. "I'll be better tomorrow." His voice hitches as he says it.

"I know," John says. He pets Matt until he falls asleep, and doesn't wake Matt up in the morning.

*

And another work day, mostly paperwork, thank God for that. He got to show the new detective how to do the paperwork on a Bellevue referral. They have to shuttle everyone through a mental health evaluation if they're on anything psychoactive at all, even minimum-doze Prozac. New detective comes from out of state, didn't know that. Normal. Boring.

Matt--looking tired but good--meets him at the subway near the station and kisses him while handing him a carry bag full of groceries. "I got steaks from the good place!" Matt says in his ear as the rush hour crowd tells them to walk down the fucking stairs or get pushed down. The place that doesn't deliver. Matt normally gets groceries online from Peapod.

Once they're on the subway, John actually looks at the bag he's carrying. "What the hell does this mean?" he asks Matt. It's a black canvas tote bag with a white outline of a square printed on it. At the bottom of the square is a caption, white on black: "hungry grue is HUUNGRY."

"Uh, if I started to explain, it would take me the rest of my life," Matt says. "Just accept that it marks you as a man of taste and distinction."

"Right."

Matt's limping when they get off the train, so he takes the elevator--stuffed in behind a granny in a wheelchair--and John takes the stairs. He's stretching out his leg and chatting to the granny when John catches up to him. "I got shot, can you believe it?" Matt says.

Granny hisses. "This city! You find yourself a nice girl and move to the country."

John picks up Matt's knee and massages his thigh above the wound. Matt grins. "I found myself a nice man," he says.

Granny eyeballs John up and down and up again. "A man like that can just carry you home on his back," Granny says. Matt snorts.

"Sure," John says. "Hop on, darlin'." He lowers Matt's knee carefully.

"Knock it off." He's walking all right when they set off for home, if a little stiffly. They take the slow lane on the sidewalk.

Matt grunts and elbows him again near home. "Gotta stop, god dammit." John stands as a windbreak as Matt leans on his shoulder and takes the weight off his bad knee.

"You need to use your cane in weather like this," John says.

"My ass."

John rolls his eyes. "Dumb ass."

"Fuck you, Wolverine."

"If you gotta get shot, honey, get shot in the muscle. Through and through heals in no time."

"Oh, god, when we get home I am shoving my foot so far up your ass you will, ouch--"

"Will what?" John asks.

"Give me a pedicure with your teeth."

"Not my kink, Matt."

"God, he's witty, why does he have to be witty?" Matt asks the sky. "Why can't he be big and beautiful and dumb?" John kisses his cheek and waits. Between his fuzzy hat and his scarf and his honey at his side, he could be anywhere and be happy; but he's in New York, best city in the world, and they got past Thanksgiving without anything blowing up, and he has the weeks of Christmas and New Years off.

Matt laughs, suddenly. "First world problems," he says.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm pissed off because I'm limping because my crippling injury hasn't fully healed after only a year. In most places in the world, I'd be dead."

"Not seeing your point."

"Yeah, I know, that's why you voted for McCain."

"I voted for Obama," John says.

Matt raises his eyebrows. "No way."

John shrugs. He hadn't been that keen on McCain, and he wanted to see the look on Zeus's face at inauguration. He does love the prickly bastard.

"Shit. I'm a good influence on you."

John pinches his butt. "Zeus. Zeus is a good influence on me. You make me listen to bad music and skip overtime. You are a terrible influence." He hauls Matt closer.

"Careful of the steaks!" Matt squawks. John kisses him, leaning up against the brick wall, all of New York passing them by.

*

Jack comes to town for New Year. He was never much for sports, but he's getting a taste for hockey, so John take him to a Rangers game. And, thank God, it's a hit. He understands his son less than he understands his daughter. The green and black hair dye, for one thing, he does not get that, and the six earrings up his left ear. He thinks he's not meant to get it, so he just accepts it.

And he buys the kid a beer, because he's just turned 21. His little boy is a grown man. That's somehow even more of a mindfuck than Lucy being an adult. But it's true, so he buys his son a beer for the first time.

One beer makes Jack smile. Two makes him wobble when he stands up after the game. "Whoa, Junior, easy does it!" John steadies his son by the jacket. Can't let his namesake topple headfirst onto the ice.

"I don't drink. I always thought you'd just know, like, psychically." Jack laughs.

"Don't tell Mom I got you sloshed."

"Dude, I still remember when you guys sat me down and explained about you being in AA and how there's, like, a genetic link and I should cope constructively--whoa," Jack says, taking a false step and thunking into John. "Dad, I'm kinda drunk."

"Yeah, you are."

"Wow," Jack says. "If I close my eyes, I feel like I'm flying." John snickers and hauls his son in under his arm.

Jack is on the small side. Medium tall, but so skinny John wonders where he keeps his organs sometimes. He's going to take Jack home and feed him some meat and potatoes.

Shouts go up around them. "Rangers! Woo!"

"Woo!" Jack answers. He wobbles against John, laughing.

When they get out of Madison Square Garden, he's out of time, and he has to do this. "Did you talk to Lucy lately?" he asks.

"Yeah. She said you turned gay and we have to be supportive because it's hard on you because you're old," Jack says.

Shit. That's one way to put it. John rubs his forehead.

"I'm totally cool. I am SO SUPPORTIVE! I LOVE MY GAY DAD!" Jack yells. A group of older, muscled guys looks up and claps.

"Yeah, you're a McClane all right," John mutters. He pulls Jack's mop top in toward him and kisses him on the top of the head.

*

"I didn't know your son was emo," Matt says to John.

"Is that what you call it? I thought he was a beatnik."

"You thought--" But Matt stops and frowns at him. "See, dammit, how can I still not tell when you're playing me? This is starting to piss me off."

"Because you're no detective, Supergeek."

"Oh, I'm super now," Matt says, the frown curling into a smile. "Moved up from Hackboy to Supergeek now that I've proved my prowess in the internet _and_ in the bedroom."

John shoves that shit right back down with his hand. "None of that while my son is here. Jesus, Matt."

"Right." Matt glances at the bathroom. "Don't cross the streams."

Jack finishes washing his hands and emerges from the bathroom. He's steady on his feet but still has a giddiness to him. He sprawls across the couch, sock feet up on the cushions. "So, like, you're old school, and you're new school," he says, tilting his head up to peer at Matt over the top of the couch arm. "So like, are you all girly? Like a lady boy? Or is this one of those things where you work out together?"

Matt looks at John. John shrugs. "I'll take door number three," Matt says.

"Are you a transvestite?" Jack asks.

"No."

"So, like, you're just a guy?"

"Yeah."

"Crap. Are you a FTM transexual?"

"No!"

"Just a dude? Dad, come on, you're famous. Why not, like..." He waves his hands. "RuPaul? He's really hot. And famous. Power couple!"

"When you're sober, I'm gonna remind you of this conversation," John says. Matt does some kind of dance step, muttering "lady boys and girl, lady lady boys," ending with a little "Walk Like an Egyptian" arm move over his head.

"I made out with a guy once, but it was just to make his girlfriend wet. I'm straight," Jack says. "Man, this couch is comfortable. Can I sleep here?"

John gets up. "Yeah, son." He drops a kiss on Jack's head and goes to get him a pillow and blanket.

*

The rest of the world has stories about John McClane. The McClane family does not, except for the one when John was whacked out on painkillers, after the Nakatomi Plaza thing, before he knew how to handle himself on opiates, and he did the cha-cha-cha with a floor lamp. Lucy has been saying "dance again, daddy!" ever since.

No. The good stories are ones like the time when Jack was six and climbed up the cupboards to the Secret Cookie Stash at the top, and he would have gotten away with it, except that Lucy (nine) performed a citizen's arrest (headlock) and put him in a holding cell (under the dining room table, surrounded by chairs) with the evidence (crushed and half-eaten cookies) preserved (plastic sandwich bag) until the fuzz (Daddy) and Jack's lawyer (Mommy) arrived.

Stories from back when they were all together, mostly. He got some stories secondhand but didn't like them as much. He and Holly hit the wall--couldn't keep from fighting in front of Lucy and Jack--when Lucy was ten. He moved his ass back to NYC. She kept her ass in LA. It actually got easier once they divorce was final and they could stop trying to make their lives run in unison.

Jack's First Binge might be the first time he's gotten a really good story and Holly has to hear it secondhand. Of course, for Holly to hear it at all, he has to come out to her. Neither of the kids is going to out him.

"I'm going to be respectful of your inclinations and life choices from this moment forward," Jack says. It comes out muffled; his head is on the kitchen table. He's not hung over, just mortified.

Matt pats his back. "I'm not FTM," he says. "Wanna see my dick?"

Jack groans.

John sets a cup of coffee by his head. "I wouldn't love ya as much if you weren't you, kiddo."

He's got to tell Holly. This is too good.

*

He practices on Kowalski. He buys her her favorite coffee--quadruple espresso with steamed milk and chocolate syrup, disgusting--and says, "Hey, can I talk to you a second?"

Her eyes widen. She scribbles "BOMB?" on a Post-It and holds it up.

"No! God dammit, Kowalski, will you take the coffee already?"

"Well shit, McClane, with you I gotta be prepared. It's been two years. You're fuckin' due." She shakes her head, takes her alleged coffee, and follows him to a quiet corner. "I'm not even gonna guess what's going through your mind," she says.

"I'm seeing someone. I gotta practice before I tell Holly."

She snorts. "Is that all? Damn, how can you still be whipped by your ex?"

"Because she's an amazing woman!"

Kowalski makes a whip-crack sound.

"And I'm seeing a guy!" John yells.

Kowalski's eyes bug out. "No."

"Yeah."

"Shit, you do need practice. Maybe lead in with 'I met someone wonderful'?" She waves her hand like, come on.

"I met someone smart and brave and sweet who likes me," John says.

Kowalski snorts. "Don't make him sound like a fairy godmother brought him."

"He moved in last year."

"No, no, just tell her you've been serious for a year."

"Okay! We've been serious for a year, okay? And now it's time to tell you, because you're part of my life. His name is Matt."

"Ha! Knew it. That computer boy you rescued went and swooned into your arms, huh?"

"He's not a boy."

"All man in the sack? Uh-_huh_." She toasts him with her coffee cup. "McClane, seriously, fuck *her* if she freaks out. You've been divorced for fifteen years. She doesn't own your ying-yang any more."

"I know. I had the tattoo removed and everything."

*

After he tells Kowalski, he's gotta come out officially. He does it the easy way and wears a pink shirt with a rainbow flag on it to work. When Bailey from Narcotics says, "Uh, nice shirt," because the man could not keep a thought behind his teeth if you put a gun to his head, John replies, "You think? My boyfriend hates it," and keeps walking.

They're all pants-pissingly terrified of him, so they ask Kowalski. John can see the hand gestures from across the room. By the end of the day, the whole place knows. Piece of cake.

He gets an email from a lesbian beat officer first, then a tentative note from the blond twink in forensics. He clarifies "AC/DC, but I'm not fighting the label" to both of them. He sends a note to Matt: "Came out at work today. Going okay so far."

Matt picks him up with a huge bouquet of pansies. "Smartass," John says, smooching him.

*

March comes in like a lion with storms, lightning, hail. Holly arrives with her hair nearly vertical. John reaches out to help untangle it before he remembers they've been divorced for fifteen years. "Hi," he says.

"Hi," she says. She finger-combs her hair into something that looks intentional.

"Coffee?"

"Absolutely," Holly says. She sits on the couch. John pours her a cup, milk, no sugar.

She drinks. "So it's serious, huh? She moved in already."

"Huh?"

Holly twirls her finger around the room. "Not your books." She stands up, opens the study door. "Wow! You hooked a computer geek. How much younger is she?"

John rubs his forehead and sits down on the couch. "About twenty years."

"How long have you been together?"

"About a year, year and a half."

"Come on, show me a picture, I'm dying here," Holly says.

He opens his wallet. "Wallet. This is very serious," Holly says.

"Yeah," John says, and hands over the snapshot of Matt. It shows Matt dressed up to testify at the Fire Sale bullshit, gunmetal gray suit, standing in front of an American flag, looking intense. It's the picture he uses to convince people Matt isn't a damn teenager, even if he dresses like one. The man's turning thirty in a couple of weeks.

"Huh," Holly says.

"Yeah," John says.

"Don't tell me I turned you off ladies for life."

John grins. "You're unbeatable, Holly."

She sits down beside him. Inside arm's reach, that's good. Means he hasn't fucked it up. He's gotta have some words with Kowalski, though, this did not go the way she'd said it would. He's losing faith in Kowalski's feminine intuition.

"Did the kids meet him? Jack was up for New Years."

"He saved Lucy's life," John says.

Holly looks at the picture again, harder. "Oh, God, this is _that_ guy?"

"Yeah. He took a shot to the knee for her."

"I never met him. I couldn't stand it--" She looks at him. He knows that look. She could have strangled him for putting their daughter into danger. She hasn't forgiven him, never will, but she's letting it lie because Lucy is safe and well. She's not going to yell because she knows how that goes; he yells back, she punches a wall and breaks her hand. She doesn't know how to punch. She won't let him show her.

John looks at the floor. They have a lot of history, they're making more all the time. It won't be over until one of them dies.

Then he looks her in the eye. "I love him," he tells Holly. "He's really something."

"He can't have your babies, so you should be fine," Holly says. But she doesn't sound bitter. It's okay.

*

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you for coming to my birthday revels!" Matt raises a glass. He's standing on the table. John is eyeballing him, wondering which way he'll fall when he crashes and burns. "Thank you, friends! Thank you, relations! Thank you, my... sweetie pie honey bear!"

"Oh, Jesus," John mutters. Matt beams at him drunkenly.

Lucy is here. Jack is here. Freddie is here, and so is his mother. Zeus is here. A dozen people in black that go by handles and won't own up to their names are here. Jack's girlfriend is here, a cute little girl with pink bouffant hair. A pack of Matt's co-workers in identical rectangular eyeglasses are here. Holly isn't here, but she left a present on the table.

"I am a lucky man. And... I'm thirty! And in love! And living in the greatest city on Earth! And drunk! Conga line!" Matt says, waving his drink. The room cheers. John spots Matt as he climbs slowly down from the table.

And, what the hell. He grabs Matt's hips and congas around the room a few times.

Later, he leans in the corner with Zeus. "I'm out," John says. "Everywhere."

"Congratu-fucking-lations. I'll buy you a pink balloon," Zeus says.

"Jesus." John pulls him sideways into the coat closet. Empty hangers bounce off their heads. "More comfortable now?"

"Mind that high horse, America's Hero," Zeus says. He's quoting the Time Magazine cover. John doesn't like to think about all that shit. "You came out and nothing happened. Life is easy when people fear your name."

"Fuck you," John says.

"No, fuck you, judging other people's decisions like you have a fucking say."

"Fuck you and your grandpa glasses."

"Fuck you and your barely legal boytoy too."

"It could have been you," John says.

Zeus folds his arms. "What's your point?"

"I love you, you son of a bitch. I want you to be happy," John says.

"We've got a black president. I'm ecstatic." Zeus scowls at him over his glasses.

John opens the door. Nobody notices. The younger element have discovered the Wii and are racing cartoon cars; the tired old fucks are looking at John's record collection. John finds Matt, who's grinning happily at the kitchen table, and embraces him from behind. "I love you too," he says.

Matt grins widely, leaning back in John's arms. That, John finds out later, is when Jack snaps the picture.

*

Jack puts it on Facebook. John finds this out later, after the thirtieth phone call, after he nearly shot the paparazzo that jumped out of the bushes at him when he went out to get the morning paper. The precinct knew, his family knew, but it wasn't until Facebook that everyone knew. He feels like he's in freefall. Last time, the time before that, the time before that, he was in the hospital and the hurricane passed him by. This time, he's got nowhere to hide.

He calls in gay to work. "I have a little situation here," he tells his boss.

"You don't think I know? The phone is ringing off the hook! Deal with this!" Click. Dial tone. The phone rings in his ear and he busts it open, takes out the battery, throws it across the room.

"Okay," Matt says. "I made a list. We do the Daily Show first, it gives us credibility."

"Huh?" He doesn't know what to do. "What network is that?"

"Comedy Central. Trust me! Also, you're not allowed to look at the internet. I saw Perez Hilton--"

"What?" John says.

"John. Trust me. I will get you through this." Matt takes him by the shoulders. "Breathe, McClane."

John breathes, holds it, lets it out. He reaches for Matt, hugs him, and then it's like he hits solid ground.

"My generation has a natural affinity for the media. I've wanted to be famous since I was a kid."

"I never fucking did. It just kind of happened."

"Yeah, because you're awesome. I'm just the guy fucking the guy who's awesome. Que sera sera," Matt sighs. John thumps him.

*

So they pose for Time Magazine (again), kiss for the Advocate, crack wise on the Daily Show, dance on Ellen, all in the right order, all with the right image. They have a web page, a Facebook page, and a Twitter feed that Matt sets up. Matt's a natural. Somehow, they come out looking like heroes just for banging each other. Crazy.

And that's how John McClane ends up on a float in the Gay Pride Parade holding Matt's hand. Matt waves, happy as a clam. John waves, happy that Matt is happy.

Then the third fucking Gruber brother takes the whole shebang hostage, but that's another story.

*

the end.


End file.
